


Masquerade

by ShaeLynn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Gen, PTSD, brief descriptions of violence, original characters are not minor, short graphic descriptions of abuse, the OC is not a Mary Sue!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2039424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaeLynn/pseuds/ShaeLynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never ask questions. Never ask for anything. Hide the pain, hide the hurt. Do not discuss or mention magic. Do not trust those in power.  AR/AU OFC (non mary-sue) Non slash. This is cross-posted from FFN.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 3 Years Old

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own, wish I did, but I don’t. 
> 
> I am posting this here since I got such a good response to "The Hat's Decision" and I've had a few comments on Harry snapping in that story. So, I thought I'd post one where Harry does somewhat snap. I hope you enjoy and if anyone has a suggestion for a better summary, please share. Also, this story is COMPLETE, check FFN if you don't believe me. Whether I ever have the time to write the sequel I have plotted out is up to Real Life. ^_^

**If someone wants to archive, please ask first. You won’t be turned down, but I would like to know where it’s going. Thank you.**

 

**Chapter 1**

**\- 3 years old -**

 

A little boy walked into the brightly decorated living room filled with pictures. But the pictures did not feature this little boy. Instead they were of another little boy, one that was truly not so little and whose cast-offs swamped the little boy standing there.

 

This little boy knew that his name was Harry, though no one around him now ever called him that. He had vague memories of a woman, hair so red the sunlight made it seem alive, calling him Harry and sweet names like his Aunt Petunia called Dudley.

 

There was usually a man beside her with dark hair like his own and big glasses who would pick him up and call him a good boy. Sometimes there was a big black dog that gave him sloppy kisses and made him laugh, unlike the small dogs that Uncle Vernon’s sister had. Those dogs would chase him and try to bite him and the three adults would laugh when he cried because he was scared of them.

 

Harry summoned what little courage he had at three years old and approached his uncle. The large man looked at him and a scowl erased the smile that had been there. Harry swallowed quietly, but with the single mindedness of a child, he went ahead and asked his question.

 

“Uncle Vernon? Where my mummy and daddy?”

 

Vernon’s face began to get purple and his hands balled into fists at his sides as he stood, towering over the small three year old. One hand picked up the boy by the neck, bringing him close to Vernon’s face and his voice was cold when he spoke.

 

“Your parents were freaks, good for nothing drunks, unemployed wastes of space, and you are just like them.”

 

With thundering steps Vernon stomped over to the storage cupboard underneath the staircase, the only room Harry had ever slept in within that house. Vernon tore the door open and punctuated his next words with vicious slaps to the little boy’s face where he still dangled by his neck from one beefy hand.

 

“Never! Ask! About! Them! Again!”

 

Then, Harry was thrown onto the threadbare cot in the corner and the door was slammed shut, the lock slid across ominously. Moments later Harry’s sight went dark, his last thought was to never ask questions. Never.

 

**\- 5 years old -**

 

The light entering the cupboard barely illuminated the small space, but the figure curled up on the cot didn’t notice. He was used to being in dim light, but that wasn’t what was taking his attention. No, that was the burning, gnawing pain in his stomach.

 

The cupboard had been locked for two days and for those two days Harry had been without food and without water. His mouth and throat were parched. It hurt to swallow and he had little moisture left to even do so. His stomach felt like it was tearing itself apart from the inside out and every time he moved it hurt worse.

 

‘A piece of cake,’ Harry thought bitterly, trying not to cry and waste more moisture. ‘I just wanted to taste cake.’

 

Two days ago it had been Dudley’s birthday. Everyone else had eaten their fill of cake and were watching the tele in the front room. Petunia was in the kitchen supervising as Harry cleaned the dishes, using a chair for a stool. He had long since gotten used to the scalding water Petunia made him use for cleaning and no longer made a fuss about it.

 

Only a little bit of the birthday cake was left and Harry had desperately wanted to know what cake tasted like. So, as he finished the last dish, he meekly asked his aunt if he could have a small taste of the cake she was already planning to throw away.

 

Harry had been cuffed around the back of the head and dragged to his cupboard. Dudley, Vernon, and Marge had come out to find what the commotion was about and had laughed as he was thrown into the small space.

 

He curled tighter into himself as a particularly vicious grumble made his entire body quake. Dudley had taken to glorifying in his punishment and would taunt Harry each morning with how much longer he had. There was only one day left. One day before he could at least drink something to quench the pain in his throat.

 

‘Please, let Aunt Petunia give me more than bread tomorrow. Please,’ he thought, already knowing that he wouldn’t be asking… for anything.

 

**\- 7 years old -**

 

Harry bit back another cry as the grease sputtered and flew. Earlier that week his aunt had decided he was old enough to earn more of his keep than his cleaning alone was doing. That first morning she had shown him what to do and left him in front of the stove with the bacon frying in the pan with only the caution that none of the food be burnt. Not even a minute after, Harry had gone looking for her, tears in his eyes from the grease splatters on his thin arms.

 

Petunia had clutched him by the shoulder and marched him back to the stove, forcing him to finish the bacon despite his pleadings. Then, he was sent to the cupboard without food and left there as the red spots from the grease began to blister.

 

Since then, every morning Petunia stood behind him, holding his arms near the stove and the boiling grease. This morning was no exception and though he had stopped pleading to have the burning on his arms stop, Harry couldn’t hide the tears that still sprang to his eyes every time the grease landed.

 

“Soon you’ll make every meal for my family. You’ll earn your keep then. You’ll learn to earn your keep,” Petunia said harshly, her hands tightening on Harry’s already bruised and blistered arms.

 

He held in his wince and forced his tears to stop. He learned, he always learned, and the lessons he learned in that house would do what only time should have done. That morning he learned to hide his pain, hide his hurt. And little Harry’s tears stopped. That morning was the last time a tear was shed upon those floors from the boy that wasn’t wanted. It was the last time Harry ever went to his Aunt or Uncle for anything. The last time for several years that he believed any adult would help him… or care.


	2. 9 Years Old

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I didn't realize that I hadn't marked this for multiple chapters. Hopefully anyone that liked it will check it out again with the new chapter. ^_-

**Chapter 2**

**\- 9 years old -**

 

Harry clutched his right arm to his chest, hissing slightly at the pain. He stepped forward slowly, carefully, not wanting to fall again from his throbbing ankle. Vernon had been forced to bring Harry with him into London that morning and an older man in strange clothing had stopped them on the street despite Vernon’s glares. He had clutched Harry’s hand, shaking it profusely as he spouted what an honor it was to meet him.

 

When the man had left, Vernon had given Harry a harsh glare and pulled him down several streets away from the direction they were originally heading. Each of the streets grew darker and dirtier until Vernon finally pulled him into a nearly black alley and released his anger.

 

Harry had learned years before that no sound should be made, even if it meant biting a hand until it bled to keep the noises in. He didn’t need to worry that morning. Vernon had never broken a bone before and Harry was unprepared for the pain as the crack from his arm seemed to echo in the alley.

 

Vernon had stopped the beating sharply, as though surprised at his own actions for a moment. Then, he laughed. And, as Harry was still in shock on the ground, his arm going numb where the pain should have been, Vernon sneered.

 

“Hope that I come back for you, freak. Perhaps I’ll just leave you here for the rats to eat.”

 

The overly large man had turned away and walked out of the alley, purposefully trodding upon a foot in his path. Now, after more than an hour sitting there in pain, his ankle was swollen. Harry could feel it pulsing with his heartbeat. He had already fallen once from putting his weight on the weak ankle too harshly.

 

He met the brick wall of a building with his arm when he’d stumbled and had fallen to his knees, stars winking behind his closed eyelids. Harry didn’t know where he was in London, nor how to return to Privet Drive from anywhere in London. He also had no doubt that unless Vernon was forced to acknowledge him, he would never be allowed in his relatives home even if he did find it on his own.

 

His thoughts were dark, angry, and bitter as he nearly stumbled again. Harry caught himself with his good arm and stopped, resting against a building as he caught his breath and pushed the pain away. He took in his surroundings and saw that he had caught himself against the window of a store front.

 

The glass was dirty and grimy, but he could vaguely see through a spot where his sleeve had wiped at the grime. He saw many bins with colored things in them and a man around his uncle’s age, but nowhere near his size, behind a high counter with a strange pointed hat on his head.

 

Harry shuddered slightly at the thought of his uncle, but steeled himself. Hiding his limp and clutching his arm tightly to his chest, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The shop was small, barely large enough for a handful of people to stand comfortably within. The bins, he discovered, were filled with colored stones of various shapes and sizes, some smooth and shiny, some rough. His attention was diverted by the man behind the counter as he quietly coughed. Harry nearly ran from the shop at the pointed look sent his way, but pulled his courage together and approached the counter.

 

“Can I help you?” the man asked quietly, his voice betraying none of his thoughts.

 

Unknown to Harry, the man had a clear view of the street outside his shop and had seen the boy stumble and the pain that raced across his face. As he had entered the shop the man had also seen a strange scar in the middle of the boy’s forehead, a scar that he knew the reputation of very well. When the boy approached, the man also noticed the nearly hidden limp, the stiff arm, and the fierce growling coming from the child’s stomach.

 

“I know your shop doesn’t sell food, but would you have some that you’d be willing to spare? I can pay for it,” Harry said and began to dig into his pocket with his good arm, but the man stopped him.

 

“Keep your money, child.”

 

Harry, thinking the man was unwilling or unable to share some food, quietly apologized and turned away from the counter. The man quickly and silently stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, causing Harry to flinch away violently. Once the boy had composed himself again and the man’s hand was removed, he spoke reassuringly.

 

“I am not turning you away, child, but I will not take money for something so simple to share as food. Come back behind the counter and I will see what I can find for you.”

 

Harry cautiously followed the man through a curtained doorway. He’d had such little experience with kindness from adults that he was beyond wary, though he was grateful. He’d only had a few coins that he’d found and hidden from Vernon and Dudley. The man directed him to a small table near a corner and turned to several high cupboards.

 

From within them he pulled out a glass and small bowl. A frosty pitcher was retrieved next and an earthenware covered bowl followed. When they were placed on the table before Harry, he realized that the orange-tan liquid inside was cold, very cold, but the bowl, which had been within the same cupboard, was still steaming when the cover was removed.

 

“But, how… that wasn’t,” Harry blurted and then snapped his mouth shut. He shrank slightly in the chair, preparing for a punishment of some kind for not only the outburst, but also for the half-asked question.

 

The man didn’t react negatively though. Completely serious, the man simply replied, “Magic.”

 

“It doesn’t exist.”

 

Dark gray eyes looked hard at Harry. “Perhaps. My daughter brought this out for my lunch. She left just before you arrived. I have more than enough to spare,” the man’s voice was quiet and throughout his words, he watched Harry’s reaction.

 

“Oh. Thank you for sharing with me,” Harry replied, quite willing to allow the matter of magic to drop. He had learned that the subject was not one to be discussed and always had consequences.

 

As Harry ate, the man stayed in the room, watching him. The attention made Harry uncomfortable as normally attention had painful consequences. The man watched the boy carefully eat in silence. Just the fact that the child already knew to eat slowly and not rush showed the man it was not the first time Harry had been forced to go hungry.

 

When the small bowl of soup and a single glass of the liquid was gone, the boy sat back from the table a bit. The man went to a different cupboard and pulled out three small glass vials. He set these on the table in front of Harry, whom shrank back slightly from him.

 

“It’s gotten cool outside, hasn’t it?” the man asked congenially, trying to put Harry at ease. The boy merely nodded, not denying the chill in the air. “It’s damp out, like usual, and I noticed you don’t have a coat.”

 

Harry ducked his head, his cheeks pinking just barely. He had often been looked down at on the streets because of that very fact, but he didn’t own a coat. At the coldest days, they gave him one of Vernon’s old coats, but otherwise forbid him one.

 

The man recognized the action as shame rather than anger, knowing nearly the same posture and look from his daughter, though she had blushed much brighter. “Don’t worry, child. I often forget my coat when I need it. These don’t taste very well, but they will help to keep you from getting a chill.”

 

The three vials were nudged closer to Harry as the man lied about what they were. The doses were potions; one for nutrition, knowing the child should not be so small, one for the pain it had been obvious he was in, and the third was a healing potion, perhaps not enough for the damaged arm, but strong enough to help the limp.

 

Harry took them, grimacing at the taste, but showing no other sign that they were distasteful. Shortly after he found his foot and arm aching less. The bruises, old and new, didn’t hurt nearly as much and Harry found himself feeling better than he had in a long time. He looked up at the man in awe and the shopkeeper just smiled slightly at the child.

 

“My name is William, child. If you are ever again in the neighborhood, you are welcome to come in. If I have any, I will share my food with you. I own this shop. Come, let me show you what I have here.”

 

The man, William, gestured for Harry to precede him back out to the front of the store. He went quietly, still cautious of the man, but more at ease after his kindness. There were still no other customers there and Harry stopped to one side, looking at a bin that had black stones in it. Each one was different and some had small slices of white across them.

 

“That is called black tourmaline. It is a protective stone if you carry it with you. And this…” William moved over to a bin a little further down where white tanish stones were held. “These are called pink smithsonite. They have many healing properties and can help recovery from an injury.”

 

William looked sideways at Harry, judging his reactions. As he had thought, the boy’s hand twitched as though he wanted to take one and hide it away, the longing evident even in the dulled eyes.

 

The store owner took a guess, noting how Harry’s eyes seemed glued to a specific spot, as though on one specific stone, rather than glancing at all the different ones in the bin.

 

“Pick one out. We’ll see if there’s anything special to it.”

 

After a brief hesitation, where Harry looked to the owner, unsure of the invitation, he reached out and plucked a stone from the bin exactly where his eyes had been looking. The stone was only partially exposed, one rounded end poking out between two others the exact same hue, but vastly different shapes. The others were rounded or rectangular in general shape. The one Harry had chosen was oblong, nearly even in diameter the full inch and a half in length.

 

William looked at the boy slightly in wonder until Harry offered the stone up to him. “Keep it in your other hand and choose one of the black tourmaline. I’m curious what you’ll find.”

 

Harry nodded and went back to the bin he had stopped at first. He looked at the stones on top, then gently, almost afraid they’d break, he pushed some aside from one of the corners. Then his fingers found, buried nearly beneath the next layer, a stone the size of a pound coin.

 

It was flat, almost like a piece of shale stone, but it was pure black, blacker than any of the rest either William or Harry could see. The edges were jagged, but it fit almost perfectly into Harry’s palm. He held it out to William, but the man didn’t touch it. The shop owner often looked through the stones he got, sometimes finding a mis-sorted stone or a rare find, something highly unusual, but he did not remember having seen a stone that barely reflected light.

 

It was the correct stone, but unlike the others in the bin, the facets did not reflect the light shining upon it. Instead, he had the feeling that it was almost absorbing it, hoarding the light it found on its surface away from the rest of the stones. William held his hand above Harry’s, blocking the light from the stone. When he removed his hand, the stone stayed pitch black for a moment before light began to barely reflect from its surface once more.

 

“True black. I have never seen one like it. Does the stone feel strange to you?”

 

“No,” Harry answered quietly, a frown on his face. “It barely feels like it’s there.”

 

William nodded to himself, coming to a decision. “You may take those stones with you. I won’t take your coins for them this time,” he said quietly as Harry was beginning to reach into his pocket. “Vrai Noir. You are welcome here at any time. Come to the counter and choose a bag to keep them in.”

 

Cautious once again, Harry approached the counter where an assortment of small bags were lined up along the edge. William waited patiently and finally Harry pointed to a small, deep emerald bag on the far end. The bag was held out to him, but Harry didn’t take it. He looked suspiciously between the bag and the man.

 

“Why?”

 

William smiled sadly at the boy, “Because there are still good people out there. You have been unfortunate to know those that are not good people. Don’t let their hate change you. You have a lot of life left to live, Noir. Live it.”

 

Harry took the bag and placed the two stones into it, then left the store, not saying anything, though his eyes spoke more than he could have when they shone with a spark of life for the first time that day. And that day Harry learned that there was kindness in people and those with power could be gentle.


	3. 11 Years Old

**Chapter 3**

**\- 11 years old -**

 

Harry sighed as he watched his uncle’s car drive away quickly. He had been left at the train station and was expected to find his own way. There was at least a few hours to go before the train would leave and Harry had both his trunk and Hedwig’s owl cage with him, the unhappy bird inside. He sat on a bench near the roadway, letting his thoughts wander as they had ever since the man, Hagrid, had come to get him for his school supplies.

 

He could understand why the very large man was upset with his relatives, but if he wasn’t mistaken, the Dursleys did have custody over him. Their refusal should have been the end of the conversation. The revelation of magic had explained so many things from his childhood, so many punishments for events he could never explain.

 

Now he knew. And with Hagrid’s visit he also knew that magic was power that could be used to intimidate others, just as size could. He had watched the interaction closely, enthralled with seeing the terrified look on his uncle’s face for a change, enthralled with the feeling of power that had come over him,. Knowing that it was because of him, for him.

 

The Boy-Who-Lived. He wanted to feel that power again, not to cause the fear, but to know that the fear was because of him regardless. One hand drifted into his pocket, holding the two small stones in there. The rest of what he had collected were within his trunk, safely tucked away until he reached Hogwarts.

 

Across the street from him, just inside a dark alley, a door seemed to appear out of the gloom. Harry smiled, knowing where the door led and how it had done as it had. He also knew what he was going to do with the time he had left.

 

Since that first tentative foray into William’s shop two years prior, Harry had managed to get there a number of times. It was only after he had learned of Hogwarts that he realized why the shop always seemed to be there just as he needed it most.

 

The door he was headed towards did indeed appear on the side of the building as all his thoughts had turned towards it for that moment. The shop he knew only had a single location, the one he had managed to discover deep in Muggle London that first day, but the door… there was something about the door that it appeared, always in a dark alley, when Harry thought of it or needed it.

 

He opened the door and pulled his trunk inside the dim room with its many bins of colored stones and bits of wood or bones. William was not yet in the room and Harry placed his trunk and pet into a dark corner near the door where they wouldn’t be readily noticed. Then, he waited for William to show himself.

 

It wasn’t long and the older man came through, a pleased smile on his face like whenever Harry managed to come. The eleven year old pulled the man into a conversation about one of the stones, learning and remembering what the man, his teacher, said to him. William knew Harry would not be allowed a book to learn from at his relatives and taught him verbally whenever he saw him.

 

Then, as Harry aimlessly shifted through the bin of olive green stones they had been discussing, he asked the man the one question he had wanted to know since Hagrid had come to fetch him.

 

“So which house do you think I should aim for at Hogwarts?”

 

The older man started, then smiled in answer to the grin on Harry’s face. “I did not know if you would have realized it or not before you arrived there.”

 

“My… relatives had no wish for me to go. A large man by the name of Hagrid came to give me my letter. I never would have received it otherwise.”

 

William nodded, understanding what Harry wouldn’t say. There had been only once the boy had entered his shop uninjured in the time he had known him. Silently, he pulled a mild healing draught from his pocket and set it on the counter before Harry.

 

“You understand more than the rest of your year mates. You understand the grays that the world lives in. You know the advantages of hiding yourself, Vrai Noir. My advice is to hide in plain sight. A snake is expected to live in a snake’s hole.”

 

“You know who I am.” A statement.

 

The man nodded, silent.

 

“You advise against Slytherin.” Again, it was a statement, not a question.

 

The man paused for a moment before he nodded, once, briefly. William turned suddenly, away from Harry. He pulled a small bag and a piece of parchment from a shelf behind his desk. The items were handed to the boy.

 

“This is a list of titles you might find useful. At least some should be within the Hogwarts library. The bag was made for you by my daughter. She bade me give it to you when next I saw you.” There was pride in the man’s voice when he spoke of his daughter.

 

Harry looked at the bag closely. On the front was, obviously hand stitched, a large V and an N. Around it were four shapes in a circle, clear enough to realize they were attempts at the four house animals of Hogwarts. The green snake was the clearest, the silver eyes seeming to sparkle at him. The raven was the next clearest, easily discernable with the bright blue outlining of the dark gray wings and body.

 

The lion and the badger were more blobs with four legs, distinguishable only by virtue of their colors and eyes as being animals of the other houses. Harry smiled at the dark green bag. He had never met, never even seen the girl, but the shop owner spoke many tales over the times he had been there.

 

“Will I meet her at Hogwarts, William?” he asked.

 

William’s face fell for just a moment as he shook his head, “She can’t go to Hogwarts, though she would have loved to last year. Miina is mute. She was cursed when her mother was killed many years ago so she could not speak of their assailant. Magic cannot help her without knowing the curse that was cast.”

 

“Will I meet her someday?” Harry asked quietly, already protective of the girl that had touched him deeply with her simple gift that had so much effort into it when she had never met him.

 

“Yes. Perhaps this summer. She is very eager to meet you, Noir.”

 

Harry nodded, a genuine smile crossing his face before William brought his attention to the time and Harry gathered his things to leave, several stones resting in his pocket, safely ensconced within the gift.

**\- 11 years old - Christmas**

 

Harry carefully finished the short letter within the dim light of the open window. Hedwig sat on the ledge beside him patiently waiting. Harry didn’t fear the cold night air waking his dorm mates as he had quickly learned that the window ledges were charmed to keep the cold and wind out if they were open, especially being in a tower where the wind was often stronger.

 

Ron snorted slightly and rolled over, mumbling in his sleep. Harry had sent out a similar letter just before Christmas. William’s prompt reply had allowed Harry to slip a stone into the trunks of each of his fellow first year Gryffindor boys. A simple, small piece of jet for each of them, for protection.

 

The Gryffindors often left their trunks open and never locked them except for Harry. The hardest part about the unknown gifts had been cleansing and charging them without getting caught, but he had enjoyed himself evading the students and the teachers alike. He was certain that even Dumbledore was unaware of his activities.

 

The stones had also arrived with an instruction sheet. Harry now knew how to make a door appear in any Muggle neighborhood without being in the need of it. And it listed where the two permanent storefronts had been placed, though they were all connected through the single door. One of these exits was in Knockturn Alley and the other was in a large Wizarding city in India, with an invitation to accompany William there sometime when it was safe.

 

As Harry tied the new letter to Hedwig’s leg he mentally went over the acceptance and thank you that were on the parchment. Both had been genuine, no masks hiding the words and Harry sighed as Hedwig flew away with the parchment.

 

**\- 11 years old – Year End**

 

Harry held his breath and stepped through the purple fire. It didn’t burn him and on the other side he saw Quirrel in front of the Mirror of Erised. His hand went into his pocket where several of his most useful stones rested. He clutched them in his hand and took a deep breath before he stepped forward, his masks firmly in place.

 

Much later Harry was dressing in the infirmary. His hand throbbed, but the level of pain was one he had lived with many times before and he barely noticed as he dug his hands into his pockets. They clenched around the stones there to fortify himself and his masks before he went back to the rest of the school.

 

He pulled his right hand from his pocket suddenly, looking at the stones he clutched. There was one out of place. One he had never seen before. As he looked closer he realized he had seen it before, but just once in that brief moment he had seen the Philosopher’s Stone in the mirror. It was no larger than his thumb nail and nearly as flat, but he knew instantly, as he always had when choosing a stone in the shop, that this stone was made of magic and meant for him.


	4. 12 Years Old

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe... throws chapter and runs

## Chapter 4

**\- 12 years old-**

 

Harry wondered if perhaps he was becoming too accustomed to hiding his pain, too good. He had nearly forgotten for a short time that he was injured. The floo trip had reminded him, _harshly_. It took longer than it should have for him to pick himself up off the floor. Then, before he could get his bearings back, he was forced to hide and Draco Malfoy and his father entered.

 

Their interruption gave him time to change his cloak from the Hogwarts one it was, into something more voluminous, more able to be concealed beneath. Then, he waited a moment and followed the two blonds from the shop. He walked down the alley, keeping to the shadows as he went, and looked for the tell-tale door.

 

There, behind the cart of an old hag, shone the emblem, brighter to Harry’s eyes than to any not looking for it. He veered across the alley, dodging between adult wizards and hags, keeping his shoulders hunched, the cloak closed around him, and the hood covering his face.

 

As he skirted around the last hag’s cart, she tried to gain his attention, even going so far as to grab his arm. A stinging hex was cast on the claw-like appendage and the hag found the wand responsible between her eyes in an instant.

 

Harry growled at the woman coldly, making her back away from him. “Do not ever touch me.”

 

Then, he slipped into the shop, the door closing softly behind him. The shop seemed dusty and almost had a feeling of abandonment to it instead of the welcome he usually could feel, though Harry could still see the bins filled with wares that he had spent so much time near. For a moment he wondered if he had entered the wrong shop when William popped his head out of the back doorway.

 

“Noir! I did not think you would be entering through that entrance or I would have warned you. Come into the back and I will explain,” William said quickly, for as soon as Harry had seen him, he’d dropped his mask, swaying slightly with his pain.

 

He managed to follow William into the back before he nearly collapsed into a chair at the small table. He noted absently, as the older man was collecting several potions, that a new shipment of amber and citrine had come in and were spread out on the other side of the table.

 

As Harry accepted one of the vials, the stronger healing one he noted, his other hand reached out and plucked up one of the smaller pieces of amber. He drank both potions, only allowing a few moments between them to settle, and his fingers wandered over the stone as though memorizing it by feel alone.

 

William chuckled quietly as he watched Harry’s subconscious actions. “I see you have discovered another stone.”

 

Harry looked down at the stone in surprise, but then hummed quietly in agreement. There was silence in the room for a time, Harry became lost in his thoughts and William went back to his sorting, looking carefully through the stones on the table.

 

“Thank you.”

 

William looked up, startled. Harry had never been anything short of absolutely polite and the boy showed his gratitude without ever saying it. There was an understanding between them, mostly unspoken, but it had always been clear to both.

 

“What happened?”

 

It was another thing that was never brought up. William knew that Harry was abused and neglected by his relatives, he would have had to be blind and deaf to not catch that, and while the two skirted the issue occasionally in discussion, it was never completely brought up and there was nothing he could do.

 

Harry froze for a moment before he visibly sagged in his chair. One hand ran down over his face, the fingers digging slightly into his eyes beneath his glasses. Harry had never wished to speak of it and, as William had been able to heal and help him when he came, he waited for Harry to admit it out loud.

 

“Things were okay. Better than they have been in a while. Then, a house elf shows up and performs magic, interrupting a dinner for potential clients of my… uncle’s business. A letter came from the Ministry informing me to stop using magic or I’d be expelled. They saw it first. Believing I could do magic had kept them too frightened to do much… damage. Some fellow Gryffindors-” At that Harry shared a smirk with the older man. “-showed up and literally broke me out of the house. I’ve been with them since.”

 

William nodded, “So tell me, is there anything exciting happening at Hogwarts? Miina and I have a relation there, but he tells us very little.”

 

The smirk grew into a full smile on Harry’s face and his eyes lit from within. “Well, after I convinced the sorting hat to put me in Gryffindor…”

 

**\- 12 years old - Christmas**

Harry sat hunched in his bed behind the closed curtains, hands working diligently as his wand illuminated the small space. Before he’d had to leave William’s shop, the man had shown him how to reinforce his wand with stones by embedding them into the very wood itself.

 

It had taken Harry nearly three months of trying almost nightly to make it work. He had owled the man several times to ensure he was performing the steps correctly and received the answer to another question from that summer within the missives. When he’d left the shop, after several hours of being there, he’d found that almost no time had passed out in the alley. He’d ducked into a corner and changed his cloak back, but had been mystified at what had happened.

 

Now he knew. There were charms on the shop’s Knockturn Alley entrance. One to deter any that were looking for trouble, one to make the shop seem less than it was, and a third that nearly stopped time for any whom entered.

 

He chuckled as he picked up the patterned stone from beside him on the bed. It was a dendritic agate, to allow the magic to flow more smoothly from him into the wand. A jet was embedded on the underside, just above where his fingers gripped the handle and the agate so that it touched his palm when in use. A sliver of smoky quartz was embedded at the very end, the bottom of the wand, shining darkly in the dim light.

 

He performed his work at night, needing three days to complete so he still had time to sleep and because the process drained his energy. But he had not had a nightmare since beginning the work and his wand was more powerful than ever, though he had to hide that fact very closely.

 

At each step, the changes had to be concealed and that took nearly more energy than the entire process as he was weaving the glamour charm over the wand itself rather than through it. Harry had not realized it yet, but he was performing the first steps to no longer needing a wand as he pulled the magic from himself into the wand, rather than the wand pulling the magic for him.

 

He smiled as the new stone was hidden and undid the secrecy charms on his curtains. The light went out and Harry’s eyes closed, his wand held tightly in his hand beneath his pillow.

 

**\- 12 years old - Year End**

Harry clutched the sword in his hand. He had seen the stones embedded in the hilt and began to push his magic out like he had when he placed the stones in his own wand. He could feel the sword warming as it charged with power. Then, he engaged the Basilisk.

 

Hours later in the safety of his dorm and the closed curtains of his bed, Harry allowed himself to laugh quietly. He was able to keep his laughter in check while in Dumbledore’s office. It had not been loyalty to the Headmaster that had called the phoenix to him. The words he had spoken held no more purpose than to infuriate the pre-Voldemort teenager.

 

The phoenix’s presence had also confirmed a matter that Harry had been unconvinced of since he had taken William’s teachings and added them into the context of the Wizarding World. There was more to Harry Potter than being the Boy-Who-Lived. Much more.

 

Harry had the stones he carried in his pockets everywhere spread out before him. Simply looking at them, Harry knew that some would be no more use than as paperweights any longer. He held his hand above them and without even touching them could sense the dry, dead feeling they gave off. He sighed. Those stones had gone through two years of Hogwarts with him and while he hated to replace them, he knew there would be no choice.

 

From the foot of his bed a bright flash of light caught his attention and Harry looked up slightly alarmed. Then, he recognized the creature there and relaxed, a smile crossing his face.

 

“Hullo, Fawkes. Thank you for your help in the chamber. I would not have made it out of there otherwise,” Harry’s words were truly thankful. “If I can ever help you, please let me know.”

 

The phoenix bobbed his head a bit and then walked carefully across the bed covers until he stood above the laid out stones. Harry was beyond curious as he watched Fawkes scratch at the stones, pulling them in different directions. He noted that all those that he thought he’d need to replace were closest to the phoenix. Then, with tilted head, the phoenix began to allow a single shimmering tear to drop onto each stone, the liquid covering the entire stone with a slight glow.

 

“You can heal stones,” Harry breathed out incredulously.

 

Again Fawkes bobbed his head.

 

“Would… Will you honor me with a few tears for my time away from Hogwarts. You likely do not know—“

 

Harry stopped as the phoenix gave a sad chirp and slowly seemed to nod his head again. Harry looked away, upset by the fact.

 

“Does anyone else know?”

 

The phoenix shook himself a bit, ruffling his feathers and crooned a short song that comforted Harry. The boy sighed and nodded to himself, trusting the magical creature.

 

“As you know what it is that I am returning to, will you honor me with your help when no one else in this castle will? And those outside of it cannot.”

 

Fawkes nodded once more and Harry hurriedly collected his smallest potions vial, one he had never used before. It was only large enough to hold about five drams, but he thought it was more than enough. An unbreakable charm was cast upon it before he held it out. The phoenix cried again for the twelve-year-old boy and filled the vial to the very top.

 

Afterwards, with Fawkes’ approval, Harry placed the vial in the decorated bag William’s daughter had made him alongside the healed stones and the few that had not been damaged. He fell asleep that night without his usual year end worries as Fawkes quietly sang a phoenix song for him. The nightmares did not return until his first night at the Dursleys.


	5. 13 Years Old

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies, I almost forgot I was cross-posting this here.

**\- 13 years old-**

The small black cloaked figure stumbled slightly as it crossed the dirty alley in a lull of the early summer shoppers. It didn’t look to the left or the right, head down and hood pulled well over its face. It hurried past the hag’s cart unharassed and paused at a dully painted door to catch its breath. Then, it opened the door and slipped through, ignoring the pair of blonds that were just beginning to head in the same direction.

 

Several minutes later the door was opened again and the blonds entered, the younger appearing nearly a carbon-copy of the older, well-dressed man. The shop proprietor was standing off to one side speaking quietly to the cloaked figure, but stopped suddenly when the blonds entered and straightened. He stepped quickly over to address the other man.

 

“Malfoy, what do I owe this pleasure? I hope you have not come here about the same matter as last time,” William stated calmly, loud enough for the cloaked figure to hear him.

 

“While I had hoped you would have changed your mind on the matter, no, that is not why I have come,” Lucius Malfoy nearly sneered. “Instead, I have come to buy a stone. I trust you have heard of the recent escape from Azkaban. My son is within close proximity to Potter while at Hogwarts. I wish a stone to hold protection spells while he is there.”

 

“I see. Give me one moment to get you one from the back.” William left the room through the door behind the counter and the blonds were left alone with the small cloaked figure that was digging through one of the bins.

 

The younger of the two kept his peace, content to ignore the other person’s presence just as that person was ignoring them. Lucius, on the other hand, was not so content. His eyes followed the figure’s rather grubby hands as they searched through the bin, fingering nearly every stone in there. The elder man sneered, his cold gray eyes hard and forbidding.

 

“I never took Daniels to be a fool, allowing dirty street scum to paw through his merchandise. How revolting.”

 

The figure’s head turned, just enough that the blonds could see a grayed profile in the dim light with one eye glittering at them in the darkness. The hunched form began to straighten before it hissed and hunched back slightly, the eye they could see closing briefly. Then, it opened again and the temperature in the small shop seemed to drop.

 

“Scum? You are allowed to enter, what difference is there between us?”

 

Lucius hissed and hefted his cane into his hand. Draco backed away from them both, his eyes wide. The elder blond took one step towards the figure, his arm swinging the cane back slightly, preparing for a blow, when the figure’s hand reached out and clenched. Draco stared in shock as his father was forced against the wall, dropping his cane and clutching at his neck.

 

“Noir, please, he is a Malfoy,” William’s voice was quiet where he stood in the doorway watching the scene.

 

“Then he should show some manners,” the figure hissed angrily.

 

“You and I both know that wealth breeds arrogance in those that know nothing else. Go into the back and we will talk without interruptions,” William’s tone was mildly placating, but he made no move towards the figure.

 

The black cloaked form hissed again before his hand unclenched and he turned away from the blonds dismissively. He nodded to William as he passed through the back doorway without a glance at the Malfoys.

 

“That is not a man you wish to irritate, Malfoy. You may find yourself in far over your head if you insist on doing so. Take the stone and go. Noir will not be pleased to find you lingering when he leaves.”

 

                \/                             \/                             \/                             \/                             \/                            

 

Weeks later the same black cloaked figure followed the same path he had so many times before. This time hissing with nearly every step. Though it was immensely satisfying for the first few moments when it happened, he knew that his uncontrolled magic wasn’t worth the end results. Especially not when he’d had to wait until there were no ‘friends’ or other well-meaning watchers around.

 

He didn’t notice the gray eyes that followed him as he neared the shop, nor the single blond that moved closer. All but the most basic of his senses were too embedded in the pain that coursed through his body. He managed to enter the shop before his legs buckled and he fell to the floor. William entered the shop from the backroom and was at Harry’s side almost so fast that Harry thought he had apparated there. The shopkeeper helped him to his feet, mindful of the potential injuries that William knew could be almost anything.

 

“Noir, what happened?”

 

Harry could only shake his head, unable to explain yet. “Do you have anything else for protection? They’re not enough. They’re never enough. I need something more. I need… I need…” Harry’s words mumbled into silence as William helped him into the backroom.

 

Before they disappeared into the room, the younger blond from the time before heard a bit more from his eavesdropping at the cracked front door.

 

“There might be something. Against what? Against what exactly?”

 

“Pain. Pain, I can’t… I can’t…” Harry was shaking his head over and over, the trembling echoing throughout his form.

 

“We’ll find something, Noir. I promise. We’ll find something.”

 

**-13 years old – Christmas**

 

“So how exactly do these doors work?”

 

William spun around at the familiar voice. “Noir! This is a surprise. I thought you would be confined to the castle for various reasons.”

 

“There are always alternate ways of getting around or out of the castle. I was quite surprised when I saw one of your doors behind the Honeyduke’s shop. How does that work?” Harry’s face was creased with a grin and his posture was more relaxed than William had ever seen it.

 

“I hadn’t thought you’d been in here enough for a door to find you, but I suppose with the state of your usual presence, the magic would hold more quickly.”

 

“What magic?” Though the question was asked suspiciously, Harry’s relaxed state never altered.

 

“There are stones and gems embedded into the door, much like how you added the stones into your wand not that long ago. There were various spells added that allowed the doors to be moved from place to place as was needed. A variation of a recognition spell was also used. In effect, it allowed the door to recognize someone that had entered the store often. The stones would then move the door to somewhere nearby that person. The amount of contact with the door varies greatly and it seems to interact with emotions as well.

 

“It has always reacted to a need from an individual, but very rarely does it do so without a need. If you saw it that close to Hogwarts, it recognized you from within the hundreds of others that come through the town. You have managed to surprise me from the moment you entered my shop, Noir. Come into the back if you have time. I think it is time to show you the other discipline of study that I know.”

 

Harry smiled at the other man and followed William into the back for a surprising conversation. Several hours later as he exited the shop, Harry stroked his hand across the pattern of the door fondly, silently thanking the stones and their acceptance of him. The pattern seemed to almost glow for a second as Harry watched. He turned and swirled his invisibility cloak around himself before walking away, the door vanishing into the wall as he did so.

 

**\- 13 years old – Year End**

 

Angry green eyes stared out one of the many outer hallway windows. One would think that it was stormy, dark out on the grounds. That would have at least matched Harry’s mood as opposed to the bright sunlight and warm breeze. His thoughts were turning over what had happened that his hopes were again crushed.

 

If Snape had never shown up at the Shrieking Shack, if he hadn’t interfered at all, Pettigrew would have been caught and at the Ministry awaiting trial. Instead, there had been enough distraction and the presence of one that would have _known_ what he’d done, that he couldn’t ensure things went correctly. He had already determined what was happening and even Remus and Sirius wouldn’t have realized how Pettigrew got to the Ministry if it had not been for Snape.

 

But he couldn’t place all blame on the man. Harry knew that he had only wished to save his sorry arse again, as usual. But must he have shown up then?

 

Afterwards was even worse. He’d finally asked Dumbledore for sanctuary anywhere but at the Dursleys. The old man had refused and worse, blocked part of his magic. Harry couldn’t figure out what he did and the old man had attempted an Obliviate on him, but Miina’s Christmas gift had saved him from the spell.

 

The runes and stones that were embedded within the cloak pin were double charmed for protecting his mind from any spells that could hold influence on it. Harry’s fists clenched tightly in rage as he glared at the sunny landscape in front of him. And Harry took to heart that those in high power could not be trusted.

 

There was no way he was going to let Dumbledore get away with his toying for much longer. Harry vowed to himself in that moment that he would do whatever was necessary to stop the old man, even if it meant joining Voldemort’s side.

 

Thoughts stopping abruptly at that moment, he pondered the idea. Could he really go so far as to help the very man that murdered his parents? But it had been Dumbledore’s fault that things had happened the way they did after that. Voldemort may have begun the chain of events, but it had been Dumbledore that had ensured the cycle was perpetuated and the old man had already shown his hand, unaware as he was of it.

 

Harry grinned suddenly as he came to a decision. Joining Voldemort would change things, yes, but perhaps he could persuade the dark side to shift their focus a bit. His hand lifted and a tiny crack began spreading up through the glass in front of him, slowly, bit by bit, until the crack became a lightning bolt. It was time to begin planning.

 

 


	6. 14 Years Old

## Chapter 6

-14 years old-

 

“Back again, Noir? That’s the second time this month. And mostly uninjured. You are still living with your relatives, are you not?”

 

Harry laughed quietly, “Yes, I am. I am aware that you know of Sirius Black, innocent escaped convict.”

 

“Innocent?!”

 

“And my godfather.” Harry then proceeded to retell the events of his third year in brief with William nodding a number of times and laughing. “It seems my family is a bit afraid of my murderous godfather coming to check on me so they have left me to my own devices. Occasionally Vernon forgets, but I simply have to mention the word godfather and he nearly runs from the room.”

 

“Take care lest they discover his innocence,” William cautioned.

 

“As the Ministry will never acknowledge it until they have Pettigrew, and they would never find out from me, the chances are slim they would learn of it. I am watching closely for any signs of that changing, do not fear,” Harry assured the older man, feeling a warmth inside him at the concern.

 

“Well, what would you like to learn today?”

 

Harry thought for a bit, his smile fading and his features becoming grim. “What stones do you have that might weaken magic dampening charms?”

 

                        \/                      \/                      \/                      \/                      \/         

 

William peeked out from the back room to see the familiar black cloaked figure standing there. “Noir! Wonderful timing. There is someone I wish you to finally meet. Come into the back.”

 

The man disappeared again and, with a shrug, Harry followed William. He stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene before him. A young girl, about his own age, was moving about the backroom as William sat at the table covered with gems. She had light brown hair pulled into a loose braid that went to mid-back. Her complexion was light, but not pale and her hands as they moved about were graceful and well formed, even the fingernails were well shaped and healthy.

 

The girl turned to face him and he saw that her eyes were a blue-green, nearly aqua colored. Her features were strong but delicate and the shy smile that crossed her face was wide and bright, making her eyes sparkle. The smile was infectious and Harry found himself returning it.

 

“This is my daughter, Miina,” William introduced, pride in his voice. That pride did not lessen as he finished the introductions, “And this, Miina… This is Vrai Noir.”

 

The smile upon the girl’s face grew larger and she bobbed lightly in a curtsy, surprising Harry. Her hands began moving then, and if he had not known she could not speak, he might have thought she was trying to pull at the very magic in the air around her. But he did know and so watched her closely. The movements were a bit exaggerated and it took him a few moments to understand what she was conveying, but then he did.

 

“Yes, the bag you made me was welcome more than you could know,” Harry said as he pulled the embroidered bag from his pocket.

 

The sound of stones shifting was heard as he opened it and emptied it onto a clear corner of the table. The gems glittered and nearly glowed, all except the black tourmaline that had fallen into the center of the grouping, the other stones surrounding it.

 

“The care you put into making this has amplified the charge upon anything I have put into it. Thank you so very much for your gift.”

 

She stepped closer to him, looking at the fallen stones in amazement. Miina had not found as much interest in the gems and stones as her father had, but had leaned more towards engravings and rituals. Without being able to attend Hogwarts, she had concentrated her studies on ruins and alternate forms of magic. She knew the basics that a fifteen year old should know, but knew more about her chosen topics than Hogwarts would ever teach.

 

The stones had not fallen into a scattered circle, instead they had tumbled out into almost a starburst pattern. The black tourmaline, the one which earned Harry his dark moniker was dead center of the others, the five other various protection stones surrounded it with the remaining five outwards slightly between the others.

 

The girl recognized the pattern of protection and power, but did not know just why the stones had created it. Her mind ran through everything her father had told her of Vrai Noir, Harry Potter. She knew the basics of the abuse he had suffered and what he had endured at Hogwarts that he had told William.

 

Miina was pulled from her thoughts as Harry held out one hand to her. Without hesitation she gave him her left hand, but nearly pulled it away when he moved it over the stones. Her palm was turned to face downwards and held over the center of the stone spill. Harry’s hand covered her own and at first all she could feel was that.

 

Then, the warmth on the back of her hand from Harry was joined by warmth from beneath her palm, coming from the very stones themselves. She stared at Harry in shock, knowing even if he didn’t that such a high level of connection was not typical for any but the closest of relationships. She should not have been able to feel a welcome from the stones’ charge, only the charge, the magic within, itself.

 

“Now you see,” Harry spoke quietly, recognizing the understanding in her eyes, though he was curious at the shock still there.

 

Miina nodded, then suddenly remembered her father mentioning what Harry had asked of him to teach the previous visit. She pointed to her upper chest then pulled her arms about herself, hands clenched as though they held something.

 

“Yes, that helped immensely. Thank you for the cloak pin. That was the only way I knew of what the old man had done. That pin stopped the Memory Charm he tried to cast to erase my memory of the event.” Harry squeezed her hand lightly and smiled gently, “If you had never given me that gift, I don’t know what would have happened.”

 

She nodded and returned the smile. Neither noticed William staring at them as they continued to interact. Even he often asked Miina to write down what she was trying to say. He had never seen anyone understand her actions as clearly and easily as Harry did.

 

But then, the boy had needed to understand even the smallest of gestures growing up. Harry had once told William that he knew how ‘upset’ his uncle was by the twitching of his mustache or the lift of his eyebrow. William was only grateful that his daughter now had someone she could converse with, regardless of how that skill was learned.

 

-14 years old – Christmas

 

It was late, Hermione had sent him and Ron up to their beds like errant children. Neville had yet to return, but the others were all asleep in their beds. Harry sat writing, his quill quietly scratching across the paper. The letter was for Miina. It was the latest in a long line of letters since the beginning of the year.

 

Carefully and dutifully he wrote down everything he could remember of the decorations down to the very feeling of awe he himself had experienced. He wrote of the dancing and the band, the food and the mixture of robes and dresses from those attending. In her last nighttime letter Miina had all but pleaded with him to tell her everything about the Yule Ball.

 

Unlike Ron, Harry had not really waited until the last minute to ask someone to the dance. The first moment he was free after it had been announced, Harry had hurriedly sent out a letter to Miina, asking if she would go with him. Barely two weeks had passed when he’d been forced to write her another letter canceling the invitation.

 

He had overheard a Beauxbaton girl speaking to one of the Ravenclaws about how she wished her boyfriend had been allowed to come to the Ball. McGonagall had only confirmed it. Unless they were Ministry officials or their guests, no outside guests were allowed to come to Hogwarts for the celebration.

 

Miina’s reply was understanding. It seemed William had taken it upon himself to ensure the safety of traveling there for his daughter and learned of the restriction the day before Harry’s apology had arrived. It was then she asked for the descriptions of the night and had also sent his Christmas present early.

 

That year he was given a bracelet of jet, apache tears, and hematite, each engraved carefully with runes of protection upon them. She had asked him to wear it so she would worry over him less during the tournament and it had been upon his left wrist under glamours since. Even as he sat there he could feel the stones almost drawing the protective wards of Hogwarts itself in tiny tendrils, making Harry’s personal protection stronger, more like wards, around his very being.

 

Harry hoped that she liked his gift in return. While he could understand her gestures, Miina was very limited in what she could convey. He had found a book on beginner’s hand signing for the hearing impaired. Duplicate copies had been bought and one was sent to Miina with the promise that he would learn as well while at Hogwarts if she wished to try.

 

The letter was sent off with Hedwig and the gift. With a wave of his hand and concentration on his face, Harry conjured a small reflective surface hanging in the air in front of him. From beneath his pillow the hand signs book was brought forth and he began to review the gestures he had already studied, watching himself in his reflection to be able to recognize them when he saw them done.

 

-14 years old – Year End

 

Again Harry’s hand snuck into his pocket, clutching at the handful of stones there. Something had been telling him that the third task was not going to proceed as planned and he had brought stones that he had never used before with him. Then, he was sent into the maze, a forbidding feeling within him.

 

His heart was pounding hard in his chest, but from adrenaline instead of fear. The moment he’d seen the thing that Wormtail carried and felt his scar nearly split open with pain, he’d known that Voldemort would be rising again.

 

With Wormtail’s back to him, Harry concentrated hard and lifted the four unusual stones from his pocket, now knowing why he had taken them. The stones were behind the other man, keeping out of sight and sweat broke out on Harry’s brow from the delicate work.

 

Each dropped into the cauldron at the same time, one at each of the four main points of the compass to augment their power. Then, Harry’s flesh was pierced and he nearly laughed at the paltry wound. The blood was added. Voldemort rose, more human than Wormtail remembered if the man’s shock was any indication. Even Voldemort himself seemed surprised when it was a pale, flesh toned, human hand that he held up in front of his face.

 

Voldemort had his wand returned and a mirror was conjured, revealing a human face, hairless but human, with red eyes. Before he could call for the rest of his followers, Harry spoke, distracting both men.

 

“You should well be surprised. Do you think any of those idiots that follow you would have known how to conjure more than the spell itself could? And about Snape, don’t damage the spy. His heart is still as faithful as it was the night he accepted your mark. Rest assured, you’ll be hearing from me soon.”

 

Then, before the two could overcome their shock, Harry summoned both Cedric’s body and the cup to him, his wand long since returned to his pocket. They reached the center of the maze again and red sparks emitted from Harry’s wand as he prepared himself again to play things the Headmaster’s way and to do what he always did, hide in plain sight.

 

 


	7. 15 Years Old

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. I sorta forgot I was re-posting this here.

# Chapter 7

**-15 years old-**

  


Vol de Mort,

Interesting choice of names. I do wonder why you chose that combination. The letters of your name were rearranged, yes, I know. What I wonder though is could not a different name have been chosen? Although, from the progression of your campaigns, both the current one and nearly 14 years ago, it stands to reason that you would wish for a form of ‘death’ to represent you.

Forgive me, introductions are late. I am called Vrai Noir. No, it is not a rearrangement of my name, nor did I choose it for myself. It was instead chosen by a good friend, at our first meeting in fact. So chosen because of the curious stone I held in what must have been an even more curious situation.

Speaking of the curiosity that seems to abound in my life, I am curious about one point of your campaign. Honestly, several points, but I shall see how you accept the first one.

Your wish to cleanse the blood of the Wizarding World is admirable, but foolish. I do not say that it is wrong or cannot be done, but that it is simply foolish. If you remove the Muggle blood, which includes several of your followers along with yourself, you are taking away new magic and new blood.

Study any of the old pure-blood tapestries for their family lines. Nearly everyone is crossed with each other at least once and many times they have several of the same family intermarried. Separated by several generations or not, that blood is still there. Now, take away all new blood, leaving the children, whom number fewer every year, to look closer and closer to their own bloodlines to find a spouse.

Perhaps it will take fifty or a hundred generations, but without new blood, the pure-bloods will be so inbred they will be marrying their first blood cousins. Do you fancy a world where the wizards and witches are missing their magic, or perhaps physical deformities, if they are even able to conceive?

Why not separate the Muggleborns from the Muggle world sooner? At the very beginning of their primary school education might be a good time. Old enough to understand that they are different, but young enough to adapt without severe repercussions. Just something to think about. You’ll hear from me again.

Vrai Noir

  


\/ \/ \/ \/ \/

  


“Good morning, William,” Harry said as he stepped through the door of the shop.

  


No other customers were there and William was standing at the counter, setting new bags onto the shelves behind it. It was only the start of the second week of summer hols, but Harry felt better than he had for some time. William’s face carried surprised delight when he looked at Harry, despite the bruised and swollen eyes. His visitor stood up straight, no limps, both arms moving freely, and no hint of pain upon his face.

  


“Noir! I am surprised to see you this early and in such good condition. Your relatives are treating you better than usual I see.”

  


“Yes, at least physically. They’ve increased their insults and such, but at least I feel better.”

  


William was quiet for a moment as he watched Harry. The young man had gone to a bin of blue-green smithsonite, a healing stone specializing with healing emotional wounds. He wasn’t even really looking through them, but simply running his left hand through the stones, letting them shift and settle between his fingers.

  


“You don’t believe what they tell you, Noir, do you? You know that it is all lies.”

  


“Don’t worry, William. I’m not lazy, or good for nothing, I know that. But I am a freak.”

  


“Noir—“

  


“And I use it to my advantage. No one wants to bother the freak in the Muggle world and in the Wizarding World many believe I can do no wrong.”

  


“Perhaps you should read this,” William said quietly and placed the morning’s Daily Prophet onto the countertop.

  


Harry leaned over indifferently, glancing at the heading. Then, his eyes did a double take and he inched closer to the counter, his fingers slowly retreating from the stones as his eyes flew over the page. His eyes began to pinch and before William knew it, the newspaper was ripped off the top of the counter and thrown onto the floor. Harry’s right hand was out and fire lit itself along his pointed fingers before streaking towards the mess of papers. The fire didn’t last long, Harry’s anger fueling it to burn hotter, and in moments only ash was left.

  


A trembling hand reached up to his forehead as the room tilted slightly. Then, gentle hands were guiding Harry to the door at the back of the shop despite his initial flinch. His knees bumped lightly against a chair and Harry sank onto it. Arms found purchase on the table and his head lowered as Harry tried to will the headache away that had blossomed intensely all throughout his mind.

  


He didn’t notice William placing several yellow jasper and amethyst about him on the table in a grid like pattern, nor the arrival of a slight figure that made little sound. He could hear voices like a far distant humming, but couldn’t distinguish what the words were and the harder he concentrated, the worse things got.

  


Then, he felt fingers settle into his hair and reaction took over. The touch was gentle and very light, but in his state of agony, Harry’s actions were instinctive from years of pain. He jerked away from the perceived threat, tipping the chair as he overbalanced, sending both it and himself to the floor.

  


His eyes wouldn’t focus, but he could sense movement getting nearer and he scrambled on hands and knees until he found himself against a wall, bumping a stand that tottered a bit before a wooden bowl on top of it filled with petalite tipped off directly over the terrified boy.

  


William motioned his daughter back even as he retreated to the far wall, his eyes on Harry the entire time. Miina turned to him in comfort, tears collected in her eyes. It had been one thing to know of what he had suffered in his life, but it hadn’t truly prepared her for the blunt reality of its proof. William held her gently, refusing to acknowledge the moisture in his own eyes as his thoughts raged over the hypocrisy of the world.

  


They wanted those of the light, their saviors, to be whatever they wanted, to help them. When it was those on a pedestal that were left alone and terrified until they were needed with only the bleeding and scarred hearts for company.

  


After a while Harry’s instincts retreated and his more rational mind took over. He could feel the stones fallen about him and could feel their energy surrounding him. The pain in his head had dimmed and he slit his eyes carefully. The light was bright, but didn’t hurt as it might have.

  


He knew he wasn’t at the Dursleys, but his thoughts were fuzzy on what had happened. He was in pain and someone had touched him. Then, he saw the stones as his fingers brushed against one and he remembered. With the pain continually fading, he could rationalize who had touched him and his voice was hoarse as he forced it to work.

  


“Miina, are you okay?”

  


Light steps came nearer to him, almost unheard, but without his ears echoing the thudding of his heart he could hear them easily and somehow he knew he would never mistake her again if he could hear her softly slippered feet touching the ground.

  


Then, she was in front of him, a hesitant hand resting gently on one knee. Harry forced his eyes open fully to look at her tearstained face. He reached out an arm and drew her to him in a careful embrace. Miina’s shoulders began to shake again and he felt his shirt become slowly damp. His other arm wrapped about her and held tightly, an apology whispering past his lips with every tear she wept.

  


Neither of them noticed the stones surrounding them were glowing, nor did they see the grim nod William gave before taking a white bag from a closed cupboard and carefully levitating each glowing crystal within and burning a lightning bolt mark with a sunburst surrounding it onto the front.

  


\/ \/ \/ \/ \/

  


“I am tired of hearing excuses from you. I want results! I want someone to be able to tell me who this Vrai Noir is! I want Harry Potter’s head on a platter!”

  


Voldemort stopped and took several deep breaths. None of his followers were aware of it, but with the new body he had unexpectedly obtained, he also now had to be careful what he did. The rituals on his soul were intact, but his angry temperament that had carried over put too great of a strain on him now. He waited until he could no longer hear his heart pounding before he continued.

  


“There will not be failure again, do I make myself clear? You will find out something about this person before I next call you. Now, onto something else. It has been brought to my attention that most of the pureblood families are blood related to a number of others. It will be the responsibility of any that are capable, to find your family tapestries and list the family names of any blood relations up to ten generations. Am I clear?

  


“Do not start with your children’s generations. I want to know starting with each one of you and your wives. I expect these to be delivered to me before the end of the week. It leaves you with four days. Do not fail me this time in something so simple. If you cannot get to your tapestries, or your wives cannot, I expect a list from memory as far back as possible. I know who is unlikely to have access and I know who has the tapestry in their own homes. Dismissed!”

  


When the very last Death Eater was gone, Voldemort took out a folded piece of parchment that looked to have seen much better days. “Who are you to question my methods? What is your name, True Black.”

  


\/ \/ \/ \/ \/

  


Vol de Mort,

Why do the purebloods abuse the squibs? They dismiss those that are weaker in magical abilities instead of seeing their potential. Too many families are unable to have more than one or two children. A squib child is no different from one that can’t see or hear, though perhaps that example is invalid as I have never seen a person that held such disabilities in the Wizarding World.

To force such people to be ashamed of who they are and to hide what they are or how strong they are, is no different from the Muggles. They often shun or despise a wizard or witch child simply because of what they can do, but the purebloods act no differently towards weak magic or squibs.

In the ancient times a child that was born with a deformity they could see was killed or thrown to the wilds to be devoured by whatever animal found them. Unfortunately, magic leaves no physical mark and one cannot fully measure a witch or wizard’s power until they have passed maturity.

By then it makes little sense to destroy an adult simply because they present a handicap to the world. What if a squib and a wizard marry? The genetics, the heritage is there for magic to be present, perhaps even more likely because the magic skipped a generation.

If a child is not brought up to believe that they are the freaks of their world, they are less likely to hide, to fear what they are, to be jealous of what they do not have. Wouldn’t that find a better world. Perhaps they can learn to do what is tedious for wizards to do, the little things that do not require magic, but must be done. There is always a place in the world for those that are different, such a place simply needs to be found.

Vrai Noir

  


\/ \/ \/ \/ \/

  


Harry sat on a swing at the park he was often at. He had no fear of needing to be doing chores, he had finished what needed to be done, and he was not worried about Dudley finding him. His wand was within reach at all times and the Dursleys knew that. Harry sighed and stretched out his legs in front of him.

  


He was proud of his accomplishments since the beginning of the summer and was content with how things were progressing. His relatives still left him mostly alone and he rarely had any lingering pain, unlike every summer for longer than he could remember. So far, he could not complain.

  


\/ \/ \/ \/ \/

  


“What have you found?”

  


“No one in Knockturn Alley has ever seen his face, my Lord. There are few that have heard him speak. An old crone said that he should not be meddled with lightly, but was unable to say why. There is one thing all we spoke to agreed on!” the Death Eater’s voice had risen in panic when Voldemort’s grip on his wand tightened and it rose half-way. “Only once has he moved through the Alley uninjured. They all say that he is hunched in pain and carries himself stiffly.”

  


“His age? His looks? Anything? Lucius!”

  


“He is young. My Lord. My contacts say his movements, whether injured or not, point to someone that has not yet completed growing. None could see what color his eyes are, but they held knowledge and pain within them that few ever do,” Malfoy stated calmly, despite the half-raised wand that was trained in his direction.

  


“I see. I need to know more. I want to find him!”

  


The Dark Lord sat back in his chair, quiet, contemplating his followers before he suddenly called upon one of them.

  


“Your family produced a squib two generations back, did they not?”

  


The man looked about him in horror for a moment before he nodded, not speaking.

  


“What did they do with it?”

  


“They got rid of it, my Lord, as any of us would.”

  


This time the answer wasn’t hesitant, it was confident and proud. To one side Voldemort saw another of his followers twitch.

  


“How?”

  


“They killed the thing, drowned it I believe.”

  


Definitely a twitch and hands clenched into fists. He wondered and called the other follower’s name. “Was there something you wished to add? You seem a touch upset.”

  


“No, my Lord. There is nothing I wish to add,” though he tried to hide it, anger was still in his voice.

  


“I think there is. Tell us what is on your mind. You are one of my more powerful followers, share with us.” No one in the room doubted the order behind the congenially spoken words.

  


“Squibs are not worthless to be thrown aside like garbage. They have their uses despite not having magic and some will grow into their magic, though it takes time.”

  


“What ridiculous thoughts,” the one that was proud of his ancestors murdering sneered.

  


A wand was pulled and all motion in the room stilled. The second one, the Death Eater that did not agree, jerked his mask off his face, a face that was contorted with hatred as he stared at the other.

  


“McCann, enough,” Voldemort said quietly, gaining more attention by that than if he had shouted.

  


Every Death Easter in the room knew that McCann was powerful, only slightly weaker than Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. The man slowly lowered his wand, the anger still twisting his face.

  


“What was the meaning of that? Drawing upon a fellow Death Eater in my presence and ignoring your place. I will have the reason one way or another, McCann.”

  


The man bowed low to Voldemort before he spoke, “There is a squib within my family, my Lord. There is a history of squibs appearing once a century within my ancestry. And they have NEVER been gotten rid of in any fashion. My mother was a squib, only coming into her magic after my baby sister was born. They all came into their magic, no matter how weakly, before they died. Murdering those that deserve it is one thing. Squibs have never been a part of that and I will have words with any Death Eater that says otherwise.”

  


Voldemort sat back in his chair in thought, “If your family has ever allowed a squib live within our world, step forward.” Only three Death Eaters out of the fifty that were there stepped up. “If your family has banished or destroyed squibs in their line, step forward.” Another five Death Eaters stepped forward, though they stood away from McCann’s group.

  


He studied the men before him. Each of the three were more powerful magically than any of the five, even just marginally. Voldemort pulled a letter from his pocket and glanced over it again. His gaze returned to his Death Eaters, many of them squirming in apprehension under his red eyed stare.

  


All of his seasoned Death Eaters were assembled before him and sixteen percent held squibs in their line. He knew of only one in that group whose line was not as pure as many of those, having several half-bloods within his history, but McCann was by far the strongest of the group.

  


Vrai Noir’s claims proved to be worth investigating. And he knew exactly which of his followers to set to the task as he stared at McCann, his eyes never wavering.

  


\/ \/ \/ \/ \/

  


Vol de Mort,

Have you ever presented an idea to a person in such a way that they agreed with it, even though they were against it originally without them realizing it? No, of course you haven’t. You simply kill any that disagree with you. You’ve never, that I know of, sat down and asked an opposing party WHY they are opposed to whatever it is you are doing.

But then, it would take so much longer and so much more energy to come to an agreement upon why your actions or ideas are necessary for a better world. It is easier to simply go out and get rid of any opposition, striking fear and hatred into the populaces’ hearts.

I am not saying that no one should die, but ideas are often misconstrued through rumors and misunderstandings in how things are presented. If an idea were truly necessary and worthwhile, why would people oppose it if they could see that?

Fear does not incite love, after all. Fear makes people angry. No one wants to fear things in their life. But love, love leads to agreement and happiness. Love leaves people open to new ideas and new concepts because they do not look at it as something to fear and distrust. Their minds are not clouded by negativity and they can view something new or different rationally and with open objectiveness.

You should understand what I’m saying. Tom Riddle grew up in fear and anger and that is how he has tried to shape the world, but being warped and twisted has had its fallbacks and perhaps even made the old fears worse.

I understand as well. Perhaps more than even you should as I was lucky to find the truth early enough to not become twisted and bitter. This world would have been a much darker place if that had happened.

Vrai Noir

  


\/ \/ \/ \/ \/

  


Harry stood with his wand in hand, clutching his trunk and Hedwig’s cage. His anger was hidden behind fear and worry, the visage that would be expected of the Boy-Who-Lived.

  


He was not as uninformed as everyone thought, despite Dumbledore’s attempts. He had visited William often that summer and had asked questions. Harry was well aware that the Ministry controlled the Dementors. He didn’t know what would happen at the Ministry, but was determined to overcome whatever they threw at him, even if it meant escalating his plans.

  


\/ \/ \/ \/ \/

  


“My Lord, we have found someone that knows this Vrai Noir. William Daniels is a shopkeeper in Knockturn Alley, but he would give us no information on Vrai Noir. There was some force within the building itself that would not allow us to pry any information from him.”

  


Voldemort nodded thoughtfully, “Do not pursue information from Daniels. It will be a waste of time and effort. I will contact him myself at a later date. Now there is another matter that needs to be discussed. Know that I will discover the truth one way or another from every one of you. Why did you wish to join me? And is that still what you want from being within my services.”

  


\/ \/ \/ \/ \/

  


It was half twelve at night. The entire house was asleep, silent on the second floor. All except for one set of sliding feet that came from no visible force. One door opened and closed, not even a shadow slipping through. Within the dim library, the air shimmered and moved like water, revealing a slim young form, shorter than he should have been by only an inch or two.

  


A single candle was lit by a Muggle cigarette lighter and a book was chosen from among the dusty shelves. Harry sat in a cleaned armchair with the book entitled The Left Side of the Dark. He opened it to a small piece of brown parchment that was used as a bookmark and he began to read.

  


It made no sense with his current plans to ignore the darker books which Mrs. Weasley had forbidden them all from reading. It made no difference to Harry if he read the books in the light of day or the dark of night. Either way, he would read them and he had already sequestered a number of texts into the bottom of his trunk for the school year.

**Author's Note:**

> Polite constructive criticism is welcome; FLAMES WILL BE FED TO THE DRAGONS IN MY BED.


End file.
